Sanity
by z'yiandria
Summary: Azkaban: the worst nightmare of any witch or wizard. What kept Sirius Black sane? Was his innocence enough? Edited & re-posted.
1. Azkaban

A/N: Yes, my dear readers, I'm back after a shocking absence of over two years. I shall place the blame on being in another country and having extraordinarily limited computer access. To get back into the swing of things, I've decided my stories desperately need editing. (Well, Sanity Regained needed more editing than this one, but I figured there was no place to start like the beginning). While I'm starting over, I would like to note, with much gratitude, that I have saved all previous reviews to both these stories and intend to use recommendations an comments in them to help with the changes. An enthusiastic welcome to new readers. Please review and let me know what you think. General disclaimer: what you recognize is not mine.

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Sirius sat up, awoken by a loud bang and the noise of several feet on the stone floors of Azkaban. There were incoherent yells and the sounds of a struggle. Sirius moved over to the door of his cell with interest. People were rarely if ever this loud when they were brought in.

He did some quick calculations. It had been six months since the last few people were brought in—Sirius had recognized his own cousin, Bellatrix, among them, and had felt some small satisfaction that she had ended up here. She was just down a little ways from Sirius, her and her husband, her brother-in-law, and some pale kid that had come in with them. But even the four of them hadn't been as noisy as this newcomer.

There were four dementors. One led the way while three others tried to keep ahold of Azkaban's newest prisoner. The struggle was such that Sirius' first glimpse of the newcomer consisted of only a pale face and a tangle of brown hair. They stopped right outside Sirius' cell, and Sirius came to the conclusion, with some interest, that the newcomer was to be placed in the cell across from his own. That cell had been empty for almost a week, since its former occupant had stopped eating and died of starvation.

Sirius struggled to breathe through the painful cold of the dementors. He watched curiously as, finally, the dementors managed to shove their resisting captive into the cell. With a clang, the barred door closed. From the sound, the prisoner had been pushing against the door and the dementors had to force it shut.

"Bloody dementors! I didn't do anything! I'm _innocent_, you bl—"

"They don't really listen to yelling," Sirius observed wryly as the dementors drifted away again, clearing the cold stone passage. "And if you're not careful, they'll come back and suck you dry."

The occupant of the cell was immediately on guard. "Who are you?"

Sirius didn't answer right away, but studied the girl across from him. She looked young; he doubted she could be out of school yet. What could she possibly be in Azkaban for? But then, Sirius had known plenty of death eaters that age. It was rumored that Bellatrix had become a death eater in her sixth year at Hogwarts, after all. The girl was standing defiantly at the door of her cell, grasping the bars of her door with white hands. "You might want to get away from the door, you know," he said finally. "The farther from the dementors you can get, the less cold it is when they start their rounds."

She looked at him with a mixture of wariness and defiance. "I can look after myself, thanks. Who are you?" she repeated, distrust lacing every word.

He shrugged. "Another prisoner. After a while it doesn't really matter."

"Doesn't it?" She was still looking at him mutinously.

"Nope. Most end up insane in about a week."

"Yeah, well, I'm not most people," she said rebelliously.

It was a long moment before he said anything else. He didn't want to talk to her, not really. He had nothing to say to anyone who practised enough dark magic to be thrown in Azkaban. He looked at her more closely. He felt his stomach clench with hatred as he recognized her robes to be those of a Death Eater. The need to speak to another human being and have them respond, however, was stronger. "You a Death Eater, then?"

She glared at him. "No. Are you?"

He accepted that she was lying. "Bit of a coward, aren't you? To deny your allegiance to Voldemort?"

She flinched and pressed herself more firmly against the wall. "Are you a Death Eater?" she repeated.

"No," he spat venomously.

From the look on her face, he knew she thought he was lying as well.

He tried something else. "Well, if you're not a Death Eater, what are you in here for?"

She stared at him. Then, to Sirius' utter amazement, she started laughing. _Maybe she's already insane_, he thought, watching as she clutched at the bars for support, still laughing. _And if she's not. . . yep, here they come_.

The dementors were back, following the root of what could have been a somewhat happy emotion. Even something as small as amusement attracted the monsters in this place. Sirius pulled his ragged robes closer about him, trying to retain a little warmth. He watched as the dementors paused outside, facing the opposite cell. He heard the sucking sound that the dementors made as they fed off the prisoner's emotions, and heard her intake of breath before she stumbled backward to the far wall of the cell, as far as she could get from the black-robed monsters.

It lasted only a few minutes; then they left again, satisfied their victim was drained. Sirius looked up again to see the girl standing at the bars again, staring after the gliding figures, no longer laughing.

"You shouldn't have laughed," he informed her. "That's what brought them. If you're going to express any positive emotions, it's best to do it silently." She was quiet, looking at him. Since she didn't comment, he asked, "What'd you laugh for, anyway?"

She smiled slightly, Sirius was surprised to see. One would think a few minutes with four dementors focusing their miserable powers on her would keep her from smiling for at least a little while.

"It was just—your question, I guess. 'What are you in here for'? It sounded like some really clichéd line off of a muggle movie, or something."

He frowned. "You muggle-born, then?"

She shook her head absently. "Pureblood, actually. But sometimes it's useful to know about muggles." She cocked her head. "You going to tell me who you are, then?"

He shrugged again. "Doesn't matter. You'll forget it in a week, when you go insane."

"I suppose if you kept me guessing at it for a week, it might be incentive to stay sane that much longer."

He shook his head. "Won't work. I heard one of the human guards saying that I was the only one in this place who could actually answer to my own name."

"And why's that?"

He shrugged apathetically. It was because he was innocent, but she wouldn't care. She was a Death Eater, after all. She'd be insane before the week was out.

He watched as she finally got bored of waiting for him to answer. She was looking around her cell. It was almost as though she was actually interested in her surroundings. She gazed at the ceiling for several minutes, then at each wall. Her eyes flitted across the floor, then up to the window where the cold ocean breeze was blowing in. Then she studied the door and let out a soft exclamation of disappointment.

"What?" Sirius asked, trying to remain interested.

"Nothing really. Just—the hinges are on the other side."

He raised an eyebrow. "The people that built this place weren't stupid, you know."

"Yeah, well, people used to say that about the Minister of Magic, too, and look how wrong they were."

_Definitely a Death E__ater_, Sirius thought grimly. _There goes her sanity. She'll be screaming about her precious Voldemort by nightfall_.

She was tugging at the bars on the window now, which was made all the more difficult by the fact that they were above her head.

"Even if, by some impossible chance, the bars _do_ come loose, what are you going to do?" Sirius asked. "Swim back to the mainland? In freezing cold waters?"

She looked over at him, an irritated expression on her face. "I'll burn that bridge when I come to it."

"No one's ever broken out before," Sirius felt compelled to remind her. "Not in the thousand years Azkaban's stood. You'll get out when pigs fly."

She gazed at him. She cocked her head, studying him once more. Her eyes flitted to either side of him, and he knew she was taking in the two prisoners to either side of him. Although he could not see them, he knew they were probably sitting and staring at nothing, very much insane. Then her gaze returned to him. Her eyes, a dark brown, seemed almost confused.

She sat down cross-legged on the cold stone floor of her cell. She frowned looking around once more. "Not much to do here, is there?"

Sirius fought back a derisive snort. "It's a prison, not an amusement park."

She was silent for several minutes, gazing at him unblinkingly. "Porcus volaticus."

"What?"

"Porcus volaticus," she repeated. "It's the spell that's most likely to make a pig fly."

He stared at her.

"Though I suppose wingardium leviosa would work, too," she added thoughtfully. "But porcus volaticus would make the pig sprout wings." He didn't say anything, and she sighed, then turned her back on him. He watched as she lay down on the hard stones, bunching her ragged cloak up to serve as a pillow. Soon he heard her even breathing and knew she was asleep.

Sirius watched her for the last few hours of daylight. She didn't move, not even when the dementors passed by, near dusk. He found himself wondering again, as he saw the sun setting outside his tiny barred window, just what the girl had done to land herself in Azkaban—even if she were a Death Eater, the Ministry would have to be fairly pitiless to throw someone underage in Azkaban. But he knew he probably wouldn't find out. She'd most likely be insane by morning.


	2. The New Inmate

Hello again. Without much further ado, here's the second chapter. As a reminder, reviews are greatly appreciated, and what you recognise isn't mine.

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She wasn't insane by morning. Sirius woke up to see her exploring every inch of her cell again. She seemed to be examining every minute detail.

"You're wasting your time, you know."

She gazed at him mildly. "Oh, you're awake. Good morning."

He yawned. "If it _was_ a good morning, I'd wish you the same."

"Well, you're optimistic, aren't you?"

"Dementors feed on optimism," he informed her.

"Don't I know it."

He watched her a few minutes more, then spoke again. "If they find out you're trying to escape, they'll just spend more time sucking you dry."

"That's why they won't find out."

"They will. They'll sense your hope of escape." He spoke from bitter experience. After the first week of shock, he had spent perhaps a month thinking of nothing but escape, absolutely confident he would somehow be the first to beat the statistics. The dementors hadn't left him alone for a solid week. Hope died quickly.

She sighed. "Good thing I have none, then."

"If you have no hope, why are you looking?"

She answered with a question of her own. "What else am I going to do with myself?"

He had no answer to that. He continued to watch her. She'd start going insane very soon. A few days were all it took for even the most stable of prisoners. Just a few days under the metaphorical thumb of the dementors, reliving all their worst memories, and anyone cracked. Except him. But that was different. _He_ was different. He was innocent.

The dementors came around twice that morning. Each time, Sirius huddled in the corner of his cell. He used to transform into his animagus form, the great black dog, but it wouldn't be safe to do that until the girl across from him was safely insane and unaware of her surroundings. Otherwise, she'd notice, and more than likely, she'd call out the information for the whole of Azkaban to hear.

Their one meal of the day came when the sun was highest. It consisted of a bowl of cold porridge, thin enough to be water and completely tasteless. This was the one time when the human guards came around the prison. Sirius sat quietly while they spooned the muck into his small wooden bowl, and when they closed the door, he immediately held the bowl to his lips to drink the stuff down.

The girl across from him was anything but quiet when her turn came. She rushed the guard when he opened her door, and despite being small and relatively thin (Sirius' definition of thin had changed drastically after a year in Azkaban), she managed to break the first guard's nose and kick him several times in the shins before the second guard used the impediment curse on her.

"No food if you behave like that," one of them grunted, and they shoved her bowl back into the cell still empty.

She glared at them, and a stream of curses flew from her mouth, but the guards paid no notice and went on to the next cell. The impediment jinx wore off, and she went to stare at them from the door of her cell, clenching the bars so hard that her knuckles turned a pearly white.

"_I didn't do anything, you bloody idiots_! _Let me out, I didn't do anything_!"

Sirius watched as one of the guards went to fetch a dementor. A few minutes later, the girl was cowering in the back of her cell, her arms over her head. By the time the dementor departed, the human guards were out of hearing distance, having moved on to the other cells.

When the dementor was gone, the girl gave an involuntary shudder and sat up. She looked across at Sirius, who was still watching her.

"If I'm not quiet, I don't eat," she stated shakily, as though reciting a lesson out of a book, and she looked at him for confirmation.

He nodded.

She swore. "If there weren't two of them, I might have had a chance."

"And what then?" he asked hoarsely. "You'd still have to get past the other two humans here, plus all the dementors. Then you'd have to get across the ocean."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Guess that's why no one's ever escaped before."

He didn't answer, but raised an eyebrow as if to say 'I told you so.' Then he went back to the last bit of bland porridge. He could feel her watching him, but paid it no mind. It was her own fault, after all. People didn't end up in Azkaban for nothing. And if she was a death eater, she deserved to starve.

The afternoon was uneventful. The dementors passed by twice more. Each time, Sirius listened for the signs that the girl was going insane. He wished she'd hurry up. He could survive the dementors a lot better if he could turn into Padfoot when they came by.

_You betrayed them! How could you? You should hang for it! I hope they give you the Kiss! We should have known you were the spy! You're just like your family, filthy Death Eater! _He could hear Remus screaming at him, could see his face, a mask of hatred, as the dementors pulled him away. Then he saw them—Lily and James, both dead, their blank eyes staring at nothing, not seeing his tears as he looked at the rubble of their house. _Lily and James! How could you, Sirius! _He could see the rat, racing into the sewer after blowing up the street. . .

_But I was innocent_, he thought fiercely to himself, and the cold receded.

He looked across the dark corridor at the hunched form of the girl and saw tears on her face. He wondered, vaguely, what memory she had been forced to relive. He doubted it was as bad as his, doubted she had seen any of her friends dead.

He watched as the girl wiped the tears from her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her tense shoulders loosen. She got up then and stretched, and he knew she was trying to banish the stiffness and cold from both the dementors and the night spent—probably for the first time—on the hard floor.

She sat cross-legged in the middle of her cell and closed her eyes. Sirius watched enviously as a peaceful expression crossed her face. She was still new. She still had hope. He knew from experience that hope could hold on for several weeks, before everything crumbled and resignation came.

But she was guilty. No matter her peaceful expression, she would be insane before the week was out. And then he'd go back to being Padfoot whenever the dementors came.

He turned his thoughts away, and fixated on what he had for the past year and a half. He was innocent. Peter was guilty. Peter was still out there. Someday, he'd get revenge. He'd kill that rat. He'd show Remus the truth. And then he'd fulfill the duty he'd promised James, and he'd take care of Harry. Little Harry, who would be growing up with his muggle aunt and uncle—he probably didn't even know he was a wizard. Sirius' stomach clenched with the injustice. He'd make Peter pay, and Crouch for sending him here. He'd—

"You look like you're trying to bore a hole in that wall," came a mild voice.

He turned his head to glare across at the girl, still seated in her cell. Unlike her, seated forward, he'd been facing the left wall of his cell. "Shut _up_," he snarled.

She blinked. "Just making an observation," she said coolly, and turned her back to him.

The dementors passed by once more, just before dark. As soon as they passed, Sirius saw the girl go through the same routine as before, letting out a breath and relaxing her shoulders. Then she went over to the window and gazed out.

The window was a little bit above her head, for she couldn't be more than five and a half feet tall. She looked up at the coming night sky, and it seemed to him that her shoulders seemed to sag a bit.

"What are you looking for?" he asked suddenly.

She glanced over at him. "Oh, going to talk to me now, are you?" she asked with a trace of bitterness. He didn't say anything, so she answered, "I'm just looking at the stars. I used to all the time at home. Mum made sure I knew all the constellations and planets before I even went to Hogwarts. I used to sneak out onto the roof late at night and just look at them for hours when I had trouble sleeping."

"Bet your mum wasn't too happy about that," Sirius murmured.

The girl shrugged. "She never really found out."

"Does she know you're here?"

"I dunno. My dad does, but then he doesn't care. But if my mum finds out, she might try to fix it. She'd never forgive herself if any daughter of hers brought shame on the family, after all, pureblood extremist that she is."

"So that's what you're waiting for?" he asked.

"Among other things, yes. I guess I might be waiting a while." It was a short time later that the girl curled up on the floor and went to sleep, leaving Sirius to his own thoughts.


	3. Hunger

Many thanks to those who reviewed. Reviews inspire me (hint, hint).

Please remember that anything you recognise is not mine.

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Sirius was awake early the next morning, after having several nightmares about James and Lily. He glanced at the cell across from his, and saw an unruly tangle of brown hair, though of course it wasn't nearly as matted as his own hair. The girl was sleeping fitfully, and shivering slightly. Sirius wasn't surprised. Even though it was almost summer, the nights were still horribly cold.

Suddenly, the girl sat bolt upright, eyes wide open and terrified. When she saw where she was, she seemed to relax slightly. It made Sirius wonder. What dream could be so terrifying that Azkaban could be reassuring to wake up to? Then again, his own were nothing to boast about.

"Good morning," Sirius called mockingly.

She blinked at him. "G'morning," she replied, somewhat vaguely. She yawned and stretched. "Sleep well?"

He scowled, thinking about the dreams he'd had. "Think you're bloody funny, do you?"

"Well, you started it. I was just being civil back."

"You need to learn the meaning of sarcasm," he muttered.

She ignored him, and he decided to start his daily staring at the wall rather earlier than normal. It was Peter's fault. He would get that bloody little rat. When he caught Pettigrew, he'd—

"Going at it with the wall again, are you?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Shut up."

"Oh. Pardon me for interrupting your fascinating conversation with the third stone to the left. Rather presumptuous of me, wasn't it?" she asked sarcastically.

"_Would you just go insane already_?" he hissed. He didn't need to be exchanging remarks with a convicted Death Eater.

"Why? You're already insane enough for the both of us."

"I am not!"

"What exactly are you doing staring at the wall then? You look exactly like every other person in this madhouse."

"Give it a year and you'll be staring at the wall, too!"

She was about to reply, but broke off with a shiver. The dementors were coming again. She scurried to the back corner of her cell, her arms over her head again. Sirius did the same. When they passed, she took her cross-legged position on the floor and closed her eyes again.

"You know, you look just about as insane as I ever did," he commented.

"Really," she replied mildly without opening her eyes. Sirius was reminded painfully of Remus. "Are you admitting you looked insane, then?"

He dropped it, and went back to brooding at the wall in silence, imagining exactly what he would do to Pettigrew when he caught up with the traitor. He stayed that way for several hours (the process of making Pettigrew pay would last several hours, and Sirius had a very detailed imagination), until the guards came with their food for the day. He immediately faced the door, but waited quietly as always for them to give him the food and shut the door again. When they moved on to the cell across from his, the girl sat quietly also.

"A little better behaved today, are we, Rosier?" one of the guards sneered. "Good. That means you'll be even better when we give you your food tomorrow."

Rosier. He recognised the name. More than that, he remembered Evan Rosier from school, a Death Eater that Mad-Eye Moody had killed. This Rosier must have followed in her family's footsteps, then.

Sirius imagined the girl--Rosier's eyes widening in protest at the guard's comment. He knew she must be ravenous, but he also knew that this was a game of sorts the guards played with the newer prisoners. After all, they were still all well-fed and fattened up. They could survive missing a few meals, and who could say they didn't deserve it?

He expected the girl to protest, to bang against the door and yell until the guards had to fetch another dementor. He didn't expect her to remain quiet until the guards had moved on.

She stared across at him. "But—I was quiet," she said painfully.

"You're still new. They won't care if you miss a few meals," he said quietly. "It's their idea of fun. Something to liven up their day."

She blinked, and he could tell that she was trying not to cry. "How can they do that? How can they have _fun_ watching someone else in pain?"

He looked at her coldly. "That's what the Death Eaters do, isn't it?" And she was one, after all, so she should know. Even if she seemed a bit naïve at times for a follower of Voldemort.

She stared at him, uncomprehendingly.

"Just about everyone in this end of the prison is here because they enjoy seeing other people in pain," he clarified. "Like Death Eaters and murderers."

"And which one are you?" she asked.

"Neither," he growled.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because they didn't give me a fair trial," he spat. His throat was tight with bitterness.

Rosier sat for a moment, contemplating this. "Isn't that what everyone says?" she asked quietly. "Don't all the Death Eaters claim they're innocent?"

He glared at her. "No, they bloody well do _not_!" He turned away, facing the wall again. He thought of Bellatrix, who still wore her loyalty to Voldemort like a badge on her sleeve, like it was an honour. What a shame Peter hadn't been so proud of his true loyalties.

It was all Pettigrew's fault, the little rat. He'd pay, Sirius would swear it on his own blood. They should have known, he thought bitterly, painfully. He would never stick up for himself, always crawling to the more powerful people for help. And then he'd turn around and betray them, given half the chance. He'd betrayed James. He'd killed James.

The girl in the cell across from him was quiet for the rest of the afternoon. When the dementors came by, they would both move to the back of their cells. Then he would resume staring at the wall, and she would sit with her eyes closed. More than once, his ears picked up the growling of her stomach.

She remained silent as the sun set once more, and as the darkness gathered, Sirius could make out her outline moving to the window to stare out at the stars again. He wondered why she bothered. They were always the same. And staring at them through bars hardly made anyone feel better.

He tried to ignore her. He focused on the stone with the odd, reddish-brown stain. It was shaped in the vague form of a rat. Little rat, it was his fault. Peter, I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do. Then he imagined proving his innocence to Crouch, throwing Crouch into this miserable prison to see how _he_ liked suffering in innocence. Not that Crouch was innocent, stained with ambition as he was.

Abruptly, Sirius felt the obsession drain from him. It really was no use. He would never escape this place, and Peter would continue to go free. He, Lily and James' betrayer, would be free, while Sirius would rot in Azkaban. And Remus . . . Remus hated him. He didn't know they had the wrong man. Dumbledore didn't know either. Dumbledore didn't know Peter had been the secret keeper, and he didn't know Sirius hadn't gotten a fair trial. If only they'd told Dumbledore about the switch, Peter would be in here. Then again, if Sirius had only kept to the plan, none of this would have happened at all. Lily and James would still be alive. Little Harry would still have his parents, and Sirius would still have his best friends.

Sirius felt a cry of pain well up in his throat, until his breathing was constricted because of it. When he could stand the burning in his eyes and the lump in his throat no longer, he broke down. Tears ran down his face, and silent sobs wracked his form.

_Lily and James. I'm sorry. It was my fault. If only I'd known it was Peter, if only I'd been secret keeper. It's my fault, all my fault. And no one'll never know, because I'll never get out. _

By now the moon was shining in through his tiny window. He moved into the light, and looked up at the moon, almost full, but not quite. In just a few nights' time, Remus would be facing the full moon again, and it would be without him. Remus was alone now, just as Sirius was. All Peter's fault. Remus should have someone with him on the full moon. If not Sirius, then James should at least have been there. James had been the one who would never abandon his friends for anything. Sirius remembered with bitterness the night he'd all but betrayed Remus, telling Snape about the Whomping Willow's passage. It seemed he could never quite escape the role of the traitor. James would never have let that happen. James had been the one to pull Snape back, after all. James should have lived. It should have been Sirius that died.

Sirius let out a cry of agony and sobbed into his arms. He knew he shouldn't show this much emotion, knew the dementors would come if he couldn't stop. But he couldn't help it.

Sure enough, the cold came. _I'm innocent. I'm innocent_, he thought, and he was able to get his thoughts back under control.

As the dementors went away again, the cold receded, and he took deep breaths as he savoured how warm the spring night air felt when the dementors weren't at the door to his cell. He gathered his ragged robes and tattered cloak about him, curled up, and went to sleep.

He couldn't be sure, but just before he drifted off, from across the dark stone corridor, he thought he could see the moonlight reflected off of a pair of eyes gazing at him.


	4. Strained Conversations

A/N: Thanks a million for the reviews! As always, what you recognise is not mine. Comments and criticisms welcome. Enjoy.

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The next morning, Sirius saw the girl Rosier in the cell across from him sitting against the far wall. Her eyes were blank and listless. He resisted the urge to smile. "Finally gone insane, have you?" he taunted, knowing that she wouldn't answer.

He didn't expect for her eyes to snap to focus on him. She licked her dry, cracked lips. "No, not yet," she answered in a hoarse voice. "Not unless insanity involves being really, really hungry and thirsty."

He blinked at her. She was certainly holding onto her mind longer than most Death Eaters. The surprise opened the floodgates to pity. He couldn't help flashing back to his own first week in Azkaban, the hunger, the desperation. "They'll probably feed you today," he said quietly.

She nodded weakly. "Hope so."

They were both quiet for several hours. After the dementors had passed by for the second time, she spoke again.

"You were crying last night."

He looked up at her sharply. "That's none of your bloody business!" he rasped.

She shrugged. "Okay. Just wondering. Never mind, then."

He went back to staring at the wall. _He'll die, the little rat. I'll make him eat his own tail. I'll make the memories stick in his head until he goes insane._ He considered, briefly, what a pleasure it would be to watch the rat squirm and squeal under the Cruciatus curse. Then he forced his mind away from the subject.

He wondered what Remus was doing now, and if he'd managed to find a job yet. He wondered what Harry was like. He'd be almost three years old now. He hoped the muggles were taking care of him. Of course, it wouldn't be what it should have been. It _should_ have been Sirius taking care of him. But that was Pettigrew's fault. And his mind snapped to various imagined tortures once more. _I'll kill him, the little rat, little Death Eater. I'll kill him with my bare hands_.

Some time later, his thoughts were interrupted once more, this time by the human guards bearing food. He waited patiently for them to fill his bowl and lock his cell once more. Then he watched as they moved on to the cell across from him.

Rosier had not even looked up at the sound of the doors opening and closing. She was lying down, curled up in a defensive position in the corner of her cell. She watched unresponsively as the guards poured the insipid porridge into her bowl. One of the guards sneered and kicked at her prone form. She made a small whimpering sound, and huddled closer to the wall.

When the guards had left, her eyes rose to meet Sirius'. She looked at him hopefully. "Food?" she asked in a croaky voice. She sounded as though she could hardly believe it.

Sirius nodded.

The girl sat up and crawled across the stone floor. She held the bowl to her lips with shaking hands. She closed her eyes with the first swallow, and Sirius knew that she was savouring the feel of having something edible in her mouth.

"Probably not what you're used to," Sirius observed, "But it will keep you alive."

Rosier nodded. "As of right now, it's the best thing I've ever tasted," she said fervently.

He let out a harsh laugh. "That'll change after a few more days." He glanced at the cells that were positioned diagonally across from him, their occupants muttering incoherently to themselves. "There are plenty that stop eating," he added. "They just give up after a while."

"They just give up hope?" she said with a questioning glance at him.

He shrugged. "Few enough have it to begin with in this place."

She was silent for a few minutes, finishing the last drop of porridge from the bowl. When she was done, she placed the bowl almost reverently back on the floor near the bars. She looked at Sirius thoughtfully. "What about you?" she asked. "Would you ever give up like that?"

"I tried once," he said painfully. "A few months ago. But it didn't work."

"What happened?"

He closed his eyes, remembering the dream he'd had when he had been certain he was on the verge of death. James had come to him. James had told him to keep going, not to give up. Sirius was almost certain that it was James that had held the bowl up for him to eat, for he couldn't have had the strength at that point to do it for himself. It was then that he first learned to fool the dementors by becoming Padfoot whenever they came by. And his hope, what little of it he had, returned.

Sirius opened his eyes. He wasn't about to tell a Death Eater what had happened. "I thought heard someone telling me not to give up," he said simply. "So I didn't."

"Who?" she asked.

"No one," he said roughly.

She nodded. "I once heard someone say that suicide is the ultimate act of selfishness," she said after a while. "I suppose refusing to eat would qualify?"

"I s'pose," he said.

"I used to think it was stupid. I mean, if it's my life, it's my decision, isn't it?"

Briefly, he wondered at the fact that she'd given the subject of suicide that much thought, clearly before even coming to Azkaban. He chose to respond to her words rather than dwell on that further. "But some responsibility always ties your life to someone else's," he countered dully, repeating James' words.

She nodded again. "Only, I'm not sure whose life I'm tied to anymore. My dad abandoned me to this place, and it would appear that my mum has, too."

"No friends?" Sirius asked.

"None living," she said quietly.

He tried not to think about that too much. He didn't want to pity her. "What about the rest of your family? Brothers or sisters?"

"No sisters. My only brother was a Death Eater. He died two years ago."

"Did Voldemort kill him?" Sirius asked, thinking of his own brother.

She flinched at the name, but shook her head. "The aurors got him. He wouldn't go quietly, so they killed him."

"Serves him right," Sirius said gruffly.

She looked at him in such a way that he almost felt she could see right through him.

"I mean, sorry he was your brother and all, but anyone that chooses Voldemort deserves what they get for it." He tried to convince himself that Regulus had deserved it. But that was painful to think about, too, for all that Regulus had been a fastidious brat of a younger brother.

There was a second where neither talked, and he wondered if she'd answer him at all.

"I know," she said quietly.

He looked up sharply. "What?"

She didn't answer, but turned away from him, lying down again in the same curled position. After a few minutes, he could hear her even breathing.

_I know._ What did that mean? Guilt, perhaps? Was this, finally, a Death Eater who recognized what she had done? Did she feel bad about the atrocities she had committed?

He watched her, mentally comparing her to his cousin. Bellatrix had come into Azkaban quietly. He had seen her marching down the dark corridor with her head held high, as though she were entering a palace. But Bellatrix had also gone insane before the first day had passed. She had been screaming that first night, her and the other three she was brought in with. By morning they had all gone quiet. Sirius knew they had been staring at nothing and perhaps muttering nonsense ever since then, only pausing to eat.

This girl Rosier in the cell across from him, on the other hand, had fought quite desperately against coming here. And despite everything, she remained quite sane, or as sane as anyone could be in Azkaban. He had waited for her to break, for her yells and screams to signify that she was no longer aware of where she was. But it hadn't happened.

Of course, it would eventually. No one held out beyond a week, no matter how strong their minds were. No one except him.

Despite what would happen, though, he was beginning to hope it wouldn't. Even if he couldn't turn into Padfoot when the dementors came, even if she was a Death Eater, it had been nice to have someone to talk to.

Later that night, Sirius stared up at the moon wondered if there was any way he could get a message to Remus. Not that there was any chance Remus would listen to him. Another friend he'd lost. _It's all your fault, Peter. When they catch you, I'll make sure they give you the Kiss, you lying scum. Filthy Death Eater._

_And what about the other Death E__ater, the one across from you_? another voice in his head asked. _You've never referred to _her_ as filthy. She was a Death Eater just like him. But just a little while ago you admitted that it was nice to have her to talk to. A filthy Death Eater. _

He clenched his fists. She was just like Peter, wasn't she? She'd probably killed people before without thinking twice, that moment of apparent guilt before she'd turned away notwithstanding. Plenty of people were good at faking remorse. Pettigrew, for one. If Rosier had known Sirius had been on Dumbledore's side before everything had happened, she probably would have killed _him_ without a second thought.

_Then she wouldn't have had anyone to talk to when she was chucked in here_, he thought bitterly. _And we both would have been better off. She'd have gotten what she deserved, and I wouldn't have to stick around this hole waiting to die_.

_Come on, now, Padfoot. Don't talk like that_, came yet another familiar voice.

_What am I supposed to do, then, James_? he asked dully, silently.

_Just hold on. It'll get better, I promise_.

Sirius fought back both tears and bitter laughter. _Well, it could hardly get any worse, could it_?

_It'll change_, the voice came again. _Not immediately, but I promise it will_.

Sirius sighed and closed his eyes for the night, hoping against hope the voice was right.


	5. Ignoring is Bliss

A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Finals are looming, papers are due . . . Ah, I know, excuses are hollow. So I'm posting two chapters in one go today. Please review.

* * *

The next day, Rosier greeted Sirius with another "Good morning" when she woke up. Sirius paid her no mind, but continued to stare at the wall. He wasn't going to speak to her. She was a Death Eater, like Peter. He wasn't going to acknowledge someone who was at the same level as the rat. It could just as easily have been her who had betrayed Lily and James, had she known them before their deaths. She was just like Peter.

He concentrated on what he would say to Dumbledore if he ever spoke to the old man again. What it would be like to have those piercing eyes fixed on him again, waiting for the truth, the real truth . . .

Rosier blinked at him, uncomprehendingly. "Hello . . . You still there? Gone insane, have you? And there you were saying I'd crack first."

With the words, he was struck by how young she was. He turned around and glared angrily at her, not speaking, but willing to show her that he certainly wasn't insane.

She seemed taken aback by his fierce look. "Erm—right. Not a good morning, then?"

He didn't answer, but maintained a stony silence and turned back to the wall.

"So," she said after a slight hesitation, not taking the hint. "Sleep well? Any dreams?"

He ignored her.

"Are you feeling okay?"

He was tempted to laugh at the irony of this question. Why would he be feeling okay, with dementors and Death Eaters all around him?

"I mean, I'd imagine it would be pretty easy to catch a cold in here, lose your voice and all that. You _can_ still talk, can't you? Dementors haven't cut out your tongue, have they?"

He gritted his teeth, scowling at the wall. Bloody Death Eaters.

"Er—is this a new trick for keeping your mind? Only it doesn't look like it's working too well, really. That conversation with the third stone to the left must really be progressing, though."

He felt a growl building deep in his throat. Had he been Padfoot, hackles would be raising right about now.

She sighed. "If you keep staring at that wall long enough, it just might burst into flames. That would be nice, wouldn't it? Keep us all nice and warm, that would." Her voice was dull now, and she didn't seem to be expecting an answer anymore.

But Sirius had had enough. He jumped to his feet and kicked at the bars. "Shut _up_, do you hear me? _Shut up_! _Bloody Death Eater_! _SHUT UP_!"

He watched, feeling darkly satisfied, as she cringed and backed away to the rear of her cell. But he didn't stop. "_Stupid bloody Death Eater_! _You're the reason they're dead_! _You and bloody Voldemort_! _Shut up and go insane already_! _SHUT UP_!"

He saw, through his rage, that she had squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears. She was rocking back and forth as she sat, shaking slightly. But that only made him angrier, for it was now Peter that he saw in front of him. He would have continued yelling and clanging on the bars, but a wave of icy cold washed over him, and he automatically fell back.

_No_, he thought feverishly. _I'm innocent. It was Pettigrew, he betrayed them_.

He shivered. The cold was lasting longer than usual. He was reduced to curling up against the far wall, hugging his thin robes to him as he fought to breathe.

_It wasn't me__!__ It was Peter__!__ I'm innocent__! _

But the cold wasn't going away. It was eating away at him, sinking into his bones until it was so cold that it hurt. Each breath was a stab of pain in his chest; each heartbeat was a drain of precious energy.

_I'm innocent! Innocent! _

The edges of his vision went fuzzy. He was dizzy, lightheaded with the pain and the cold.

_Make them go away__! __I'm innocent__! _

He felt himself falling in slow motion. Why wouldn't the dementors go away? As the darkness claimed him, his last thought, was that somehow, James would be disappointed in him.

Sirius woke up with his cheek pressed against the cold stone floor. He glanced at the sun outside his window, which was descending steadily and nearly touching the horizon. He found his bowl half-full of cold porridge. Grimacing, he slowly drained the tasteless substance. It was only after he'd finished that he looked through the bars of his cell door to see what the prisoner across from him was doing.

Rosier looked as though she hadn't moved at all since that morning, though Sirius knew this couldn't be true, because her bowl was empty. Her arms hugged her knees, where her forehead was rested. Her eyes were shut tightly, but Sirius could tell she wasn't asleep from the tenseness about her frame.

As he watched, she lifted her head, leaning it back to stare blankly at the ceiling. He suddenly saw the traces of tears down her face, glinting in the dim light. He frowned.

Sirius moved to the back of his cell, intending to go to sleep and forget about everything, at least for a while. Provided he didn't dream, of course.

The girl's gaze moved to him, and he paused. No, he decided. He wouldn't talk to her. She was still a Death Eater, after all. Still one of _them_. He scowled at her and turned away.

"I'm not a Death Eater." The words were quiet, but they still made him stop.

He turned back to her. He stared at her for a long time, and she stared back, unblinkingly. Her skin was pale, as though she spent very little time out in the sunlight. There was a sort of desperation in her dark eyes.

"I'm not a Death Eater," she repeated, staring into his own haunted grey eyes.

He considered her, peering through two sets of bars at her in the dimness that was characteristic of Azkaban. He searched the dark brown eyes for a sign of—something. Was there anything there to suggest she was telling the truth? Any flicker of humanity, of the compassion that a Death Eater would be incapable of having?

He frowned. What was he looking for?

Hope. That was what an innocent person would have. That was what he had when he first came to Azkaban, anyway. He squinted across the badly lit corridor, studying her eyes intently, looking for something, anything that would make him believe her.

Her eyes were empty. In them, he saw nothing but the hopelessness of Azkaban. He saw a fear of the dementors, and pain from memories that were meant to be forgotten. But most of all, he saw despair. Despair was the source of the desperation he'd seen earlier, not hope. She had no hope.

Only guilty people had no hope. That meant she was guilty. She was a Death Eater. He turned away, disgusted.

"I'm not a Death Eater," she said again, a pleading note in her voice.

He didn't turn around this time. "Yes you are," he said wearily, and stretched out on the cold stone floor. Cold. It was always cold, he thought dully.

"I'm not," she insisted, and he could tell from her voice that she was crying now.

Sirius lifted his head, turning to glare at her once more. Yes, there were tears running down her face. But that didn't change anything. Lots of Death Eaters cried.

"Yes, you are," he repeated coldly. Cold, he thought. Why did it always have to be so cold here? He lay back down.

He could hear her sobbing, most likely huddled in a corner again. For some, that was the first sign of insanity. Even if she didn't start screaming, she would start staring off into space soon. He shivered.

She was saying something, but the words were incoherent through the tears. Yes, he reflected dully, all Death Eaters cried in Azkaban, even the most callous of them. And Rosier was just a girl, not even out of Hogwarts yet. Of course she would cry.

That meant Peter would cry if he ever came here. Would he feel sorry for betraying James and Lily if he was kept here long enough?

The crying stopped. He looked up again, and could see her outline just below the window, staring up at the sky through the bars. She was at it again. But she would never get out, and no amount of gawking at the distant lights in the sky could help her, Death Eater that she was.

No, he decided, Peter would never feel sorry for what he did. Death Eaters didn't feel remorse. They just weren't capable. He had heard rumours—nothing specific of course, but vague hints—that Bellatrix had been the one to kill Regulus. If the reports were true, Bellatrix had murdered her own cousin on Voldemort's orders, when Regulus had tried to get out of what they asked him to do. Had she felt remorse? None. Not even for that. Not even for torturing innocent people. People like Bellatrix didn't feel sorry for anyone. They only felt sorry for themselves when they were caught.

Peter, if he came here, would certainly cry and scream, and then he would finally go insane, because he was guilty. But he would never feel sorry, because he was a traitorous little rat, and Death Eaters couldn't feel sorry.

Peter deserved this place, him and all the other scum who would never feel sorry for what they did. And if Sirius ever caught him, he would make sure Peter got the Kiss. It was what the traitor deserved.

Sirius stared through the darkness at the now still form of the girl. Yes, he thought venomously, she deserved this place. She and every other Death Eater.


	6. The Death Eater and the Innocent

A week later, the girl Rosier still had not cracked.

"Good morning," she greeted him dully as he pushed himself up from the hard floor. She said this to him every morning, as though to prove to him she was not insane yet.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. He knew what would happen if he didn't answer. She would continue to ask him questions for several minutes until he finally cracked, and either answered or started yelling at her.

"Morning," he finally replied in an indifferent voice. "Sleep well?"

"No," she said as though commenting on the weather. "You?"

"No," he answered, matching her unconcern.

She nodded and began to stare off into space. Sirius knew that she wasn't insane, however. He could always see the emotions flitting across her face. There was always a look of intelligence about her, and when she spoke, it was in coherent sentences.

Sirius, for his part, began his daily staring at the wall. _Little rat, little traitor_, he thought with a vicious single-mindedness. And each time he thought the simple little phrase, his hatred grew. He counted the stones in his cell again, imagining a different way of torturing Pettigrew for each one. There were a lot of stones.

When the dementors came, Sirius would change his fixation, as always, and think hard about his innocence. He plastered himself against the far wall, trying to escape the cold that was so intense he struggled to breathe.

The human guards came by near midday, as always. Sirius watched them quietly, but did not move from the back of his cell until after they had shut the door again.

Rosier had begun watching them from the back wall of her cell, too, but she was not always quiet. She had taken to thanking them when they set her bowl of bland porridge on the stone floor, always sloshing a little. The guards, at first, had not known how to respond. After all, only Sirius answered to his own name out of all the prisoners, and even he was usually quiet when they brought his food.

Today, one of the guards sneered and kicked at her bowl, so that even more of the poor meal spilled onto the floor.

The girl blinked, and Sirius could tell she was trying not to cry. However, she took a deep breath and looked at the guard again. "I was a little less hungry than usual, anyway."

The guard had no reply, and Sirius imagined that his eyes were widening in shock and confusion at the lucidity of her response. The guard turned away with a sneer and clanged the barred door behind him.

When the guards had moved out of hearing distance, Rosier moved to retrieve the bowl, now only half full. She looked sorrowfully at the contents, then up at Sirius. "I lied. I'm exactly as hungry as normal," she told him.

Sirius shrugged. "Of course. But that's what you get for speaking up."

She nodded. "But you have to admit, it _is_ somewhat entertaining to see them freaked out at how I'm still sane."

"It gets old eventually," Sirius assured her.

"Then I'll enjoy it while it lasts."

He shook his head disbelievingly as she held the bowl up to her lips. The bowl was soon empty, and the girl looked regretfully at the drying spots on the stones.

She looked up at Sirius again. "I think there was a hint of cinnamon in it today."

He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and wondering when she would finally go insane. "That's your imagination."

She sighed. "Well, it's better than nothing."

He didn't answer. When he opened his eyes, he stared at the wall. _I'm innocent. I'll kill him, the dirty little rat. I'll use thumbscrews. I'll use Chinese water torture. I'll drown him. I'll strangle him, keep my bare hands around his lying little throat until he stops moving. How _could_ he betray them_?

He spent the afternoon in an obsessive daze of hatred, only rising from his stupor when the dementors passed.

In the early hours of the evening they were graced with an unusual event. The human guards passed by again, this time with a third person Sirius didn't recognize. The two guards seemed to be taking the third person on a tour of sorts. Sirius guessed that he must have been training as a new guard.

"This one 'ere is Sirius Black," one of the two usual guards said to the new one.

"Black, eh? Isn't he the one who murdered thirteen people with one curse?" The new person, a stern looking man with an air of narrow-mindedness, glared at Sirius.

"You might want to stay away from him, though," the second of the usual guards chimed in. "He's bad luck. Not affected by the dementors, see."

The new person nodded, then kicked at the bars. "Black?" he asked in a demanding voice, staring at Sirius.

Sirius remained silent, but just to let the new person know that he wasn't insane, he stared back into those unintelligent eyes with a deep loathing, enough to make the man take a step backward.

"Er—right. And what about this one?" the man asked nervously, motioning to the girl opposite him.

"I can speak for myself, you know," she said quietly and evenly.

The man blinked, trying to regain some composure. "I see. And what is your name?"

She stared up at him, and a slow smile moved across her face. "What do you care?"

The man, now quite unnerved, snorted. "I don't," he said shortly, before motioning for the other two guards to lead him on. "You're a convicted Death Eater. You don't need a name."

Sirius watched Rosier move to the bars, staring after them.

"I'm not a Death Eater," she said quietly, to their retreating backs, but it was obvious they couldn't hear her. Then she repeated it, more firmly. "I'm not a Death Eater, so before you say you don't care, you might try getting the whole story."

"You do know they don't care, don't you?" Sirius asked. "They don't give a d—"

"But they should! I'm not a Death Eater!"

"Of course you are," he answered. "That's why they sent you to Azkaban."

"No, they sent me here because they _thought _I was a Death Eater."

He raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Are you saying they were wrong?"

"Well, they're human, aren't they?" she said sarcastically. "They can't be right all the time."

"You're wearing Death Eater robes," he pointed out.

"Not by choice," she snapped.

He rolled his eyes. "It's not like Voldemort forced them on you."

She flinched.

"What, scared to hear your master's name?" he mocked with a sneer.

"_He's not my bloody master_," she hissed.

He snorted disbelievingly. "Really. Tell me, then," he said slowly, as though explaining something to a very small child, "What were you convicted of when they threw you in here?"

Rosier looked away, scowling. "Being a Death Eater," she mumbled.

"And why would they do that?" he asked in a condescending voice.

"Because they're idiots!"

"You're just mad that the aurors were smarter than you," he said, yawning.

"If they were smarter than me, they would have given me Veritaserum to see whether or not I was lying," she said sharply.

He blinked, and frowned at her.

"That's what they should have done," she insisted. "I even asked for it, but did they listen, the idiots?"

He didn't say anything, but turned away, ready to go to sleep and ignore her. He didn't really listen as she ranted about the Ministry, but he found his attention drawn back like a shot when her tone changed to contrast starkly with the angry tirade.

"It was the same with you, wasn't it?" the quiet voice asked.

He turned so sharply that he cricked his neck.

She was looking at him with something like a calm satisfaction. "You didn't do anything either, did you? That's why you kept your mind. You just think about how you're innocent whenever the dementors come by, don't you—Sirius."

He stared at her. "How did you—?"

"They _did_ mention your name, you know."

"No, I meant, how did you know I think that to stay sane?"

"Well, it's the same thing that I use to stay sane, isn't it?"

There was silence as he stared at her. Impossible. It was some sort of trick. They were doing this to torment him. Or maybe he wasn't as immune to the insanity as he'd thought. Yes, that would be it. The cell across from him was still empty. She was just another hallucination. It wouldn't be the first time, after all, he thought wryly.

She flicked a pebble at him. It bounced off the bars. He blinked impassively, his mind still working furiously. The second pebble actually sailed through the bars and bounced off his knee. He rubbed the spot. Then again, maybe she wasn't a hallucination . . .

"Say something," she said, and he realised she was repeating it—had, in fact, just said it moments before she'd sent the pebbles across the corridor.

Well, why not? What did it hurt to hope?

Sirius moved over to the bars of his cell. "Okay," he said slowly. "I'm not saying I believe you, but I'll give you one chance to convince me. After that, I'm not going to listen anymore."

She nodded. "Right. My name is Lyra Rosier. Does the name Rosier ring any bells?"

"There was an Evan Rosier in my year at Hogwarts," he said slowly, wondering where the catch was. "He was in Slytherin."

She nodded again. "Yep, that would have been my older brother. He was a Death Eater. So was my dad. One of the first, apparently. He was right proud of it, too."

Sirius frowned, trying to remember anyone else at school with the surname of Rosier. He couldn't think of any. "I don't remember you from school," he said finally.

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, you wouldn't, would you? I was a second year when you were in seventh. You and your friends didn't pay much attention to the younger students. Well," she amended, "except to play pranks on them. First year one of your friends put the _levicorpus_ spell on me, but, other than that, not much attention, like I said."

"That's not true," he argued. "We had—well, a sort of audition near the end of seventh year for all the first and second years." He grinned slightly in remembrance. "We were trying to leave our mark on the school by training the next bunch of troublemakers. Didn't work too well, though. Lily found out and made James stop."

She looked at him appraisingly. "Yes. And as I recall, you wouldn't let any girls join in."

"Well, of course not—" he began, but broke off as he felt a shock of recognition. A girl so small James hadn't believed her when she'd said she was a second year . . . "_You_—"

He was cut off again, this time by a sharp intake of breath as the dementors drew near.


End file.
